I find it difficult to give proper attention to this business while
the man who by a dastardly assassination has made it necessary goes
unpunished."

The secretary in his turn pushed the papers aside, as if moved by a
sudden distaste of them, but gave me no answer.

"You told me, when you first came to me with news of this fearful
tragedy, that it was a mystery; but it is one which must be solved,
Mr. Harwell; it is wearing out the lives of too many whom we love and
respect."

The secretary gave me a look. "Miss Eleanore?" he murmured.

"And Miss Mary," I went on; "myself, you, and many others."

"You have manifested much interest in the matter from the
beginning,"--he said, methodically dipping his pen into the ink.

I stared at him in amazement.

"And you," said I; "do you take no interest in that which involves not
only the safety, but the happiness and honor, of the family in which you
have dwelt so long?"

He looked at me with increased coldness. "I have no wish to discuss
this subject. I believe I have before prayed you to spare me its
introduction." And he arose.

"But I cannot consider your wishes in this regard," I persisted. "If you
know any facts, connected with this affair, which have not yet been made
public, it is manifestly your duty to state them. The position which
Miss Eleanore occupies at this time is one which should arouse the sense
of justice in every true breast; and if you----"

"If I knew anything which would serve to release her from her unhappy
position, Mr. Raymond, I should have spoken long ago."

I bit my lip, weary of these continual bafflings, and rose also.

"If you have nothing more to say," he went on, "and feel utterly
disinclined to work, why, I should be glad to excuse myself, as I have
an engagement out."

"Do not let me keep you," I said, bitterly. "I can take care of myself."

He turned upon me with a short stare, as if this display of feeling
was well nigh incomprehensible to him; and then, with a quiet, almost
compassionate bow left the room. I heard him go up-stairs, felt the
jar when his room door closed, and sat down to enjoy my solitude. But
solitude in that room was unbearable. By the time Mr. Harwell again
descended, I felt I could remain no longer, and, stepping into the hall,
told him that if he had no objection I would accompany him for a short
stroll.

He bowed a stiff assent, and hastened before me down the stairs. By the
time I had closed the lib